


Moments of Truth: A Collection

by katajainen



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Falling In Love, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Revelations, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21604822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: Or: five times Legolas realized he was in love with Gimli – and one time they shared an epiphany.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 50
Kudos: 244





	1. Upon Leaving Lothlórien

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent litte blips that my brain decided to push out in between wrestling the Big Story.
> 
> Ch. 5 is the reason why I'm using **Chose Not To Warn**. (So, be warned.)
> 
> To compensate, Ch. 6 – or the +1 – is the tooth-rotting fluff.

Legolas watched in awe as Lady Galadriel undid her braid and cut free not one, but three golden-silver strands. And it warmed his heart to see Gimli’s undaunted honesty and fair words so generously rewarded. 

Yet he would have gladly traded places with her, for the privilege of having that same silver-tongued persuasion unleashed upon his own person, demanding a different boon entirely.

He could taste the shape of his own answer, as clearly as if he had already spoken it aloud, and that sudden certainty felt almost too much for his soul to contain. With effort, he tore his gaze away from his dear friend and stood trembling with the realization, certain that the truth of his heart was brimming over for anyone to see.

It took a moment’s unguardedness, or perhaps simply her own unmatched power, for the Lady to capture his eye.

_ Took you long enough, Thranduilion, _ she whispered in his mind, and her voice was warm with laughter.


	2. After He Had Feared Him Lost

The morning sun danced upon Gimli’s uncovered hair, small flickers of coppery flame appearing on every curling strand not matted down with blood and dust. But his smile was still hearty and his voice strong, and the sound of it shook Legolas to the marrow of his bones.

For he knew it then: that he loved his boasting, and his foolhardy courage, and his hard dwarven skull that would not be cracked by a mere inferior orcish blade. And such was his joy and relief that he could have wept, but it was not the place for such, so he spoke light words that he could not recall afterwards, only that Gimli’s hands had been warm in his, and he was alive for him to love.

He did weep later, wrapped around the comforting breadth of Gimli’s body as he rested, but his soundless tears were lost in a great wealth of fire-touched hair, and no-one knew.


	3. Deep in the Glittering Places of the World

Hours had passed, then days; narrow winding tunnels slick with dripping moisture, and soaring, sand-floored caverns with black rivers flowing silently through them, and Gimli’s guidance never failing to lead them true.

There had been silence; in vaulted chambers made starlit by a well-placed lamp, and beneath hanging draperies of stone, their colours shifting from moonlight to sunrise, waiting for the harp-like plinks of falling water into the mirror-still surface of an underground lake. And there had been song, at first echoing deep in the darkly yawning emptiness about them, then resounding without warning, travelling through the soles of Legolas’s feet and up to his heart, like a drumroll answering a question he had not known he had asked.

But Gimli himself was worth more than any of these, for his passion and his patience and for making Legolas see with new eyes and an open heart, gifting him with wonders unimaginable.


	4. In Ithilien, Years After the War

It was barely morning, for only faint silvery light seeped beneath the door and into the stone-walled room. Legolas could hear Gimli’s deep steady breathing in the darkness beside him. They had shared wine to celebrate his arrival, and talked long into the night. 

The soft rapping sounded anew. Legolas padded barefoot over thick carpets, slipping quietly into the front room, where the dawn had lit up the high windows.

‘I knew I would find you here,’ said his second-in-command at the door.

Legolas shrugged, running a hand through his hair. Gimli visited all too rarely, and his small house had room enough.

The thought came to him quietly, like a dragonfly alighting on still water, but its ripples spread through every inch of his being: there was no other he would trust with sharing so much, with whom he would more gladly spend every hour of the day. And then he laughed aloud, for surely Gimli must know. It was himself who had been blind.

His second stopped mid-sentence, but Legolas waved away her concern and returned to the matter at hand.

It would be a beautiful morning.


	5. When He Was Already Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings.**

There was a last, shallow breath, then silence.

It clung to Legolas like a cold heavy mist, that absurd, painful quiet, that absence of breath and warmth and voice. There were preparations, and he saw them done, but he could barely speak, feeling strangely detached, as though his body but floated upon the face of the world, coming untethered like dry leaves in autumn.

Ever the one with forethought, Gimli had had his own tomb made, and there he would rest, enfolded in stone. The heavy slab that covered him was the first thing to truly touch Legolas since the silence had first claimed him; with a final, shuddering sigh he pressed his cheek against the cold unyielding grain and closed his eyes.

There he would lay, unmoving and unmoved, for seasons without end, for he had only known Gimli held his heart when he had taken it with him.


	6. The First of Peacetime (+1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like twice the length of the others - but hey, it has two POVs :)

The fire crackled low, for there was very little to burn in this dead, barren country. The two of them shared the meagre warmth in exhausted silence, yet theirs was the weariness of travails well accomplished.

A foolish and improbable course had proven sound in the end, all who remained of their Fellowship were accounted for, and this night was the first of what would become peacetime.

Safe in that knowledge, Gimli son of Glóin pried open the great strongbox of his heart and considered with due care all the things danger and duty had not allowed him to dwell on – the elf first and foremost among them.

Legolas sat across the fire, doodling into the dirty sand with a thin stick, his gaze resting absent on the dwindling flames. And so Gimli let his pipe dangle from his fingers, though it threatened to go out, and finally looked his fill.

Strength and courage he saw, a spirit to match his own, and humour as well. And beauty, he thought, just as shadowed eyes lifted and locked onto his own. Fathomless pools of dark sky they were, flecked with flame, and into them Gimli would gladly drown, knowing full well what they might read of his own regard.

*

For a long, suspended moment, their gazes twined over the flickering embers, the new warmth in Gimli’s dark eyes caging Legolas in place, like a hare in the sights of a fox. He was sure his friend could see his heart laid open; every path and passage he had hidden from himself and not dared to take, incredulous to the last– and yes, _afraid_ to seize what he had long since given up all hope of having.

Love.

Not that between friends or blood-kin, but the passionate kind that would forever bind his soul to another, the kind–

A sudden sharp sting jerked him out of his thoughts, and he let out an involuntary yelp. The branch in his hand had caught flame without his notice, singing his fingers.

‘It’s nothing,’ he mumbled around his smarting fingertips as he saw Gimli making to rise.

‘Let me see.’ Gimli’s big hands were warm and rough as they turned his to the light.

‘I’ve survived worse,’ said Legolas, to make light, and then, afore he could regret it: _‘Meleth.’_

‘You have not called me that before,’ remarked Gimli in a low voice. ‘It’s not the word for “friend”.’

‘No.’ Legolas gave in and stroked the back of Gimli’s fingers where the fire-glow revealed short red-brown hair. ‘Not a friend.’

‘I see.’ Gimli circled a single finger in the cup of his palm, a soft ticklish caress that made Legolas’s breath catch. _‘Amralîmê._ Also something other than friend.’ He shifted and leaned against Legolas’s shoulder, his solid weight all at once familiar and achingly new.

And so they remained, watching as the fire slowly died, an entire future held safe between their joined hands.


End file.
